Hellspawn (Book 3): Hellspawn Sentinel

by Ricky Fleet

  “Look alive!” Jonesy called and DB looked away, leaving the damned passengers and their eternal journey.

  “What’s the plan for the ones in there?” Kurt asked as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.

  “DB is going to open the door from the roof of the Foxhound. They will come pouring out and fall onto the tracks. From that height they will probably break something but we kill them quick before they can recover. Sound good?” Jonesy explained and Kurt laughed.

  “Good? No. Necessary? Yes,” he answered.

  “Everyone get ready. Choppers only, but I will cover you. DB, when I say, pull that door open. Tell her to get you close and then back away when you give the signal!” Jonesy called and through the rear doors the survivors piled out, arming themselves and standing at a safe distance from the carriage.

  Jodi pulled forward as instructed and DB climbed on the roof. He reached out, pulled the door and the first zombie tumbled out, surprised by the suddenly missing barrier. DB grabbed it by the hair and smashed it repeatedly into the roof of the vehicle until the skull spilled its contents. Jodi had backed up and the rest of the dead reached the open doorway. They fell the seven feet and landed hard on the other rail, breaking spines and bones. The others used the opportunity to vent some rage after the events of the morning, and the dead were butchered without mercy. The pile of bodies lay leaking their fluids on the graveled ground and the looks of enjoyment on her family’s faces made Gloria’s heart ache with sorrow.

  “During all the horror, the dead have lost their dignity. Could we please use the stones and give them a proper burial?” she asked the group. It was a way to honor the lives of the unknown dead, and attempt to regain a little of their waning humanity.

  “They don’t care anymore, why waste the energy?” Braiden said, meaning no disrespect. He was just speaking logically.

  “The lady is right,” said DB stepping forward. “It won’t take long and it shows we can still care. If God is watching, he may just save our ass in the future.”

  Gloria laughed at his motives, “It shows we are still decent human beings. If He is watching, we aren’t doing it for brownie points. Although a favor wouldn’t go amiss,” Gloria admitted with a quick glance skyward.

  “I’ll get the shovels,” Jonesy offered and collected the two Army issue tools from inside the Foxhounds.

  Peter had woken from his healing slumber and stood to the side, face expressionless. Christina had spoken to him briefly and had assured them that the time would come when he would let his grief out. Kurt wasn’t so sure. Peter had the look of a man lost, with nothing left to live for. His previous love had caused the death of his new love, a strange tangle of emotion and ultimate betrayal. Kurt walked over and took out the crumpled picture of Paige with her baby, holding it out to him.

  “Get that thing away from me,” Peter said, a look of dismay twisting his features.

  “She wanted you to have it,” Kurt replied calmly, trying to hand the picture over again.

  “I said get it the fuck away from me!” Peter screamed and pushed Kurt as hard as he could.

  Kurt’s heel caught on the rail and he fell backwards, sprawling on the tracks. Landing awkwardly on his ass, the pain shot up his spine, causing him to cry out. Peters face went from furious to distraught in a split second and he rushed forward to help Kurt up.

  “I’m sorry, Kurt. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Peter flapped around like an old maid, taking Kurt’s hand and helping him to his feet.

  “Only my pride, Pete. Don’t worry,” Kurt smiled with a grimace of pain as a twinge swept up his back.

  “I don’t know what came over me, I just don’t think I’m ready to look at the picture yet,” Peter explained and Kurt understood all too well.

  “I’ll keep hold of it until you are, ok?” Kurt said and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I know she is gone, don’t worry about me freaking out again. It’s just every time I close my eyes all I see is Debbie’s poisonous face, gloating that she has hurt me more than it was ever possible with her fists,” Peter lowered his head and started to weep. Kurt placed a comforting arm around his shoulders and stood there quietly, commiserating with his friend.

  The others had pulled the bodies into a line and the loose stone chippings of the track bed proved a decent material to give a worthy burial. The ground was frozen, so digging a hole would have been out of the question. They all stood in a circle around the fallen strangers, people they had never known, but now paid their respects. Gloria stepped forward with head bowed.

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen,” she finished.

  “That was lovely, thank you,” DB said and Gloria nodded. Jonesy got back to business and the group moved away from the final resting place of the train passengers.

  “The plan is; we back the two vehicles up to the door. That way we can climb out through the gunnery position and then back down inside if we need to. If any of those dead fucks shows up, we can pick them off with ease,” Jonesy explained.

  The Foxhounds were moved against the train carriage and, one by one, they climbed through the open door. Of the three private booths, one was beyond redemption. Blood and gore covered every surface, including the ceiling. The stench of decomposition was overpowering so they pulled opened the inner window and sealed it by closing and sealing the door with tape, praying that the smell wouldn’t spread. The two remaining rooms were untouched as Jonesy had surmised. They prepared their food and laid the bedding out. It was decided that the women would have the long, padded seats to lay on and the men would take the floor. The sun set and the twilight was a mixture of subtle blues, oranges, and purples in the dying light. It was decided that there would be no light after dark because of their position; the tracks were raised and the open fields meant they could be seen for a mile in all directions. The curtains had been ripped off by vandals, and only the last strip of fabric was attached to the steel rings.

  “Tomorrow we push for Ford town. Then we take the road north to Arundel and the castle,” DB laid out their next move, but they all knew what had to be done. Their fear grew as the darkness took hold; they knew that Ford had a population of over ten thousand and there was no telling how many they would face.

  “Would you mind telling us what happened at the barracks?” Sam asked innocently, still infatuated with the bravery and skill of the trained soldiers.

  “We weren’t on guard duty at the time, our twelve-hour stint was up and we had gone for a bite of late breakfast,” DB’s voice was deep and melodic, taking them all back to that fateful morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DB and Jonesy handed their rifles back to Corporal Hague who was manning the weapons storage desk and signed them back in. They always made fun of the desk jockey, not classing him as a real soldier despite the fact that he was their superior and had undergone the same training. Anyone that sought the safety of an office was fair game for the real men within the Army.

  “Long night?” the corporal asked, trying to make conversation.

  “Too long,” replied DB, ignoring the temptation to ridicule the thin, wiry man in thick glasses. He had already received a reprimand from command about the banter. The ‘new’ Army was becoming pussy whipped and scared of its own shadow since several reports of systematic bullying and intimidation had been revealed by the government.

  “Can you believe that shit? A warning for a bit of a joke with Corporal Spectacles,” Jonesy shook his head in bewilderment.


  “You made the mistake of thinking that we joined the Army to become trained killers and defend our nation. You only have to look at the new breed of officer with their sociology degrees to see how low we have fallen,” DB replied with anger.

  “Give me a CO that screams in my face and makes me do a thousand press ups, instead of one who invites me into his office for a latte and a chat,” Jonesy replied.

  “Amen, brother” answered DB.

  They walked into the mess hall and the smells of bacon and eggs hit them like an olfactory orgasm. There was nothing in the world like that aroma after a hard night’s work, pacing to and fro in the dark. The chef piled their plates high and they seated themselves with several of the others in their platoon.

  “I am getting royally drunk tonight!” declared Private Harkiss, much to the glee of his peers who whooped and hollered.

  “Lucky bastard!” said DB grinning. It would be a week or more before he was rotated to leave the base.

  “Not as lucky as the girls in Emsworth will be!” Harkiss laughed, thrusting his pelvis back and forth. The others roared with laughter and slapped him on the back.

  “Shut up, Harkiss, the best you can hope for will be lubricant and a sock,” joked Jonesy and Harkiss playfully punched him on the arm, knocking his fork of eggs onto the table.

  “Wanker!” Harkiss called back as he made his way to the recreation room.

  “No, you tit. You will be the wanker later; didn’t you just hear me?” Jonesy shouted over his shoulder and was rewarded with the middle finger of his friend.

  The table quietened down and the only noises in the mostly abandoned hall were the kitchen staff cooking and cleaning, and the slurping and chewing of hungry soldiers. The peace was broken by the shrill cacophony of the claxon in the corner of the room. The tannoy crackled into life and the sound of Major Albright’s voice rebounded from the walls.

  “We are now at critical threat level. Our response has been changed to exceptional. All teams mobilise and await further instruction, out.” The voice faded and every soldier jumped up, leaving their food and running to their quarters. The rhythmic sounds of heavy boots on the floor rung out from every corridor as the men and women geared up and waited for orders.

  “Training drill?” DB asked the others as they waited by their bunks.

  “Probably. You know how they love fucking with our meals,” complained Jonesy, the taste of crispy bacon still on his tongue.

  “With any luck we can be back at our plate before it gets cold,” DB offered hopefully. He was still starving.

  Shouts and movement greeted them from around the corner and Sergeant Crown strode into their room.

  “You ready to rock and roll?” Crown said as he reached them.

  “Yes, sir. What’s going on?” Jonesy asked.

  “No idea, we had the call come down from top brass to go on high alert. Now we stand here with our dicks in our hands until we get the call,” their superior explained.

  The radio beeped in his hand and the voices of the guards on the gatehouse came through, “We can see civilians, two dozen at least approaching on foot. Request orders, over.”

  “Hold your fire, keep them at a distance in case they are wired with suicide vests. We haven’t been briefed on the exact nature of the imminent attack, out,” Major Albright responded.

  “Good to see the brass are keeping us appraised as normal,” Jonesy said sarcastically.

  “You watch your mouth, soldier. Our only purpose in life is to follow orders, and kill who they tell us to. Decisions are above our pay grade,” Crown replied with disapproval.

  The faint cracks of gunfire reached them through the windows. They rushed over, but their side of the building only gave them a view of the tumultuous ocean, driven by the high winds that churned the water.

  “It’s coming from the gate, what the fuck is going on?” Private Pelman asked, looking around the group. His inquiry was met with confused shrugs.

  “What do you think, Sarge? Shall we head to the weapons lockup?” Jonesy inquired.

  “Better to be safe than sorry, let’s go,” he answered and ran out of the room. The rest followed and as they passed the other sleeping quarters, his whole platoon fell into position and jogged behind him. They reached the weapon store and the bespectacled soldier was flustered at the sudden interruption of the warning and now the gathered troops.

  “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t just issue you all with weapons without the proper paperwork. I haven’t received any orders to the contrary,” whined Corporal Hague. The eyes of the troops were on him and their derisive grins caused him to flush with embarrassment.

  “I know you have orders, but you can hear the fucking gunfire! We are under attack!” Crown shouted straight in his face and no one would have been surprised to see him start bawling or wet himself.

  “I… I…” he blustered.

  The radio came to life again and the screams that ripped from the speakers made them all cringe. “They are attacking us! Oh God, they are eating Mackenzie! There are more coming. Request backup, over.” More gunfire followed and the clerk was struggling to swallow, his throat bobbing with the lump of fear that paralyzed him.

  “Sergeant Crown, get your men to the gate immediately. Sergeant Holbeck, your platoon will provide cover. Artillery teams to your positions and await instruction. Prepare for close cover, out,” the Major barked from the radio.

  “You heard the man, load up!” Crown shouted and the soldiers pushed past the Corporal who had gone as white as a ghost. Goodness knows how he would cope when he was assigned to Afghanistan. Little did they know that they would never again see an overseas deployment against a human enemy.

  “Hustle! Hustle!” yelled their CO and they filed out, fully kitted with assault rifles and magazines.

  They raced across the parade ground and the sounds of screams carried over the autumn wind. Sporadic gunfire cracked and the closest guard towers had been occupied by snipers who fired off single rounds into the growing crowd. Sergeant Crown’s platoon shouldered their weapons and crouched low, training their sights on the advancing civilians. The last woman soldier standing ran over from her firing position behind the small gate building. The others were on the floor, flailing around, screaming in pain.

  “Get those bastards off!” ordered Crown. DB and Jonesy, along with eight others, ran forward and grabbed at the figures who were on top of their comrades. They threw them aside and the full horror of the situation was revealed. The fallen troops had been partly eaten, large chunks of flesh were missing and blood spurted from torn arteries in necks and arms.

  “Medic!” screamed DB as he single-handedly pulled a hideously injured soldier to cover. He had no idea who it was, because most of the face was missing, revealing patches of red skull.

  Jonesy took up position and went to one knee, aiming his gun centre mass of the first body to rise. It was a woman and she was rotten. The flesh was mottled with purple and black patches where she had been buried only a few weeks ago. A second passed while he processed the information, then he fired. The bullets ripped through the chest and sent the woman cartwheeling backwards. It was pointless to dwell on how the hell it was happening, the evidence was right in front of his eyes and he believed his own senses. The wind switched direction and the smell of death and excrement filled his nostrils. It was an old, familiar companion this fragrance. He had encountered it on numerous occasions on the dusty streets of the Middle-East, discovering a local who had been executed and left to decay as a deterrent to others. They had never got up and walked though.

  “Holy shit, they aren’t staying down!” cried out Private Carrol as another assailant regained his footing, ignoring three large wounds in his chest.

  Jonesy couldn’t believe the words that were about to pour from his mouth, but he shouted them anyway, “Shoot them in the head!”

  He retreated to the bridge entrance and provided cover fire for the rest of the soldiers as they carried th
e other two wounded back to safety. Sure enough, with the skulls exploding and the brain splattering the road, the dead stayed dead. In the distance, he could see cars speeding down the road, swerving in and out of the walking menace like some macabre slalom.

  “Get the floor barriers raised, we don’t know who is in those vehicles. They could be as crazy as those bastards,” shouted Crown while DB sprinted for the hut. He reached inside and entered the security code. The solid steel bars rose from the ground, ready to prevent any would-be suicide bomber from driving an explosive laden truck or car into the compound.

  The sergeant held the radio to his mouth, “Major, we have casualties at the gate. Civilians of unknown origin have tried to eat the guards. I repeat the last, they have taken bites from the troops. We have civilian vehicles approaching, so we have raised the barrier. Do we allow entry to any survivors? Over.”

  The major’s voice came back to him, calm and collected. He didn’t seem perturbed at the reports of cannibalism. “No. Civilians are to be held at the gate until we get control of the situation. Maintain position. Lieutenant Baxter, bring four Vikings to the main entrance and provide heavy machine gun cover, over”